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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581308">Turning Point</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinecakes/pseuds/tangerinecakes'>tangerinecakes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work, Wolfsbane - Fandom - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:00:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinecakes/pseuds/tangerinecakes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>That night, the mercenary could no longer push his conscience aside.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Turning Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Mad. Crazy. Murderous. </em>
</p><p>Bastian had heard all that numerous times, most recently out of the mouth of the man he was hired to travel with. He had listened as they rode, following the trail the mage had left behind, and he had felt uneasy. Nervous. Afraid, even -- not for his own life but for all those that could come across this mage and suffer for it.</p><p>
  <em> He is the most untrustworthy of them all. He will try to talk you into letting him go, and you shouldn’t listen. He will push a knife between your shoulder blades the first chance he gets, so don’t turn your back. </em>
</p><p>Bastian had listened to the jingle of the shackles, crafted to dampen the magical abilities of mages, hanging from Konnor’s saddle. He had felt a little more at ease, comforted by the fact that this mage couldn’t at least magic them to death.</p><p>Bastian could deal with blades, with fists, with kicks and teeth and screams. What he couldn’t deal with was magic, because that wasn’t something he could just block with his weapon. So he had felt more relaxed, knowing that he didn’t have to face that.</p><p>Now he sat there, running the whetstone along the edge of the sword across his lap, and watched the mage on the other side of the small campfire. Konnor was talking, recounting some of his travels while gesturing lively with his hands, but Bastian didn’t really listen to him. His attention was on the white-haired man who sat there, eyes turned to the ground, the blue in them darkened despite the warm glow of the fire. The tattoo around his eye, marking him as a Larkan mage, was so black against his skin and the white strands of wild hair.</p><p>The whetstone ran along the edge of Bastian’s blade again. Konnor waved his hand, laughing loudly, and the mage flinched visibly. Bastian frowned and watched him hold his breath, the way his chest stopped moving so visible. He watched as long fingers came up to brush against the tattoo, again and again and again, gently at first but almost frantically in the end, as if the mage was attempting to scrub it off his skin. Bastian’s brows furrowed deep again and he glanced at Konnor, the triumphant grin on the man’s face as he poked humor at the prisoner.</p><p>Bastian had seen mages. He had seen them driven mad by the powers burning in their veins, the destruction they spread around them everywhere they went. He had seen it, he had been there to capture them and he had brought them back home. Back to imprisonment, to places they could be controlled. He had seen the wild glimmers in their eyes, the glow of the runes carved in their skin, the fires that consumed them and burst out of their hands.</p><p>All he saw now was surrender. Fear. He saw the mage -- no, Elias -- tug at the metal rings around his ankles as if they were burning him. Not once did he look at Konnor, not after the other mage had forced him into those chains. With Bastian’s help, no less. The mercenary always felt a wave of guilt when he had to restrain someone like that, but this had been justified. Greater good, protecting the wider population.</p><p>
  <em> Something is wrong. </em>
</p><p>The thought didn't leave him, wrapping around his throat like long, cold fingers intent on choking him. He looked at Konnor and the man raised an eyebrow at him.</p><p>
  <em>"Are you sure about this mage?"</em>
</p><p>Now it was Konnor's turn to frown deeply and lean forward, eyes sharp and cold as he looked at Bastian, smiling.</p><p>
  <em>"Yes. You have no need to question me, just do your job."</em>
</p><p>The reply incited a hum from the mercenary, and he looked back down at his blade, letting his focus remain on it as he listened to the fire crackle. The next time he looked up was when Konnor rose, walking over to the chained mage. Even if the man stopped out of arm’s reach, the white-haired one seemed to shrink. It was subtle, but even Bastian recognized it, especially now that he was paying more attention to the body language that happened between those two. Konnor leaned closer to Elias and said something to him, in a voice low enough that the mercenary couldn’t hear it.</p><p>Elias seemed to shrink more, almost crumble. Konnor laughed, and checked the chains from where they were tied to a tree.</p><p><em>“I’m going to sleep, you take the first watch. Remember, anything that wretch -”</em> he gestured towards Elias <em>“- says is just manipulation. Don’t listen. Smack him if you need to, a few bruises is fine.”</em> Waving a hand Konnor retired to his tent and Bastian watched him go, hand resting over the cloth-wrapped whetstone still resting on his blade. Then he looked at Elias.</p><p>
  <em> This is wrong. </em>
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